The Water of Life Affair
by MLaw
Summary: Napoleon and Illya are sent on a mission to obtain two rare bottles of Grand Marnier. Originally posted for the picfic Tuesday challenge on section7mfu on Live Journal and Dreamwidth. This is an extended version here as the file was too large to post on the other sites, and those are slightly abridged versions. pre-saga


"Gentlemen, this is your new assignment," Alexander Waverly said as he tossed a pair of folders on his conference table, sending them round to Solo and Kuryakin.

Illya pulled his tinted reading glasses from his pocket, putting them on and immediately set about examining his packet.

"Grand Marnier?" Napoleon was puzzled.

"Not just any Grand Marnier," Waverly smiled, "these two bottles are extremely rare and valuable to connoisseurs of liquor. These are a special cuvee bottled by Marnier-Lapostelle from around 1925, based on pre-phylloxera cognac from 1830, were originally in the collection of Professor Franz Loewe, a known aficionado of vintage labels, as well being as a gifted chemist."

"Pre-phylloxera?" Napoleon was unfamiliar with the term.

"Illya looked up over his glasses."Phylloxera are a pest of commercial grapevines worldwide, these almost microscopic, pale yellow sap-sucking insects, related to aphids, feed on the roots and leaves of grapevines, depending on the phylloxera genetic strain. On common grapevines the resulting deformations and secondary fungal infections can girdle the roots, gradually cutting off the flow of nutrients and water to the vine."

"And this is important...?"

"Pre-phylloxera cognac is fundamentally different from the modern product in a way not true of

most other spirits or other wines. The original Cognac vineyards - which are believed to date

back to Roman times, were chiefly planted with Folle Blanche, a thin-skinned grape variety,

highly prone to mildew and rot, but which in good vintages produces a brandy of incomparable

perfume and character. After phylloxera, the Cognac growers re-planted with grafted Ugni Blanche, which yielded a less interesting brandy. Sadly the unique character and depth of the old Folle Blanche vines was lost forever"

An image of Loewe's face and that of a photograph of the man's body sitting in the driver's seat of a black Mercedes flashed side by side on the video screen above their heads. An enlarged image of the to bottles of brandy faded into view.

"The professor died under mysterious circumstances and as part of his estate, these bottles are being auctioned off within the next two days," Waverly said.

"I understand they are vintage and therefore valuable but for what purpose is UNCLE needed..." Illya looked up, his glasses slipping down his nose again.

There was a twinkle in Waverly's eyes, "You see Mr. Kuryakin it is not the liqueur itself, or the bottles for that matter, but what is of interest to us is what Professor Loewe purportedly injected into them, and that is a formula to extend life." He smiled, "I suppose that makes these bottles of Grand Marnier a true aqua vitae, as it were."

"Ah yes, the water of life, to which most distilled liquors are now referred. Whisky from the Irish uisce beatha, eau de vie in France, acquavite in Italy, and akvavit in Scandinavia, okowita in Poland, okovyta in Ukraine, akavitain Belarus, yakovita in the southern Russian dialects..."

"Yes quite, Mr. Kuryakin you've made your point," Waverly interrupted him.

"Gentlemen, you're to go to Vienna and obtain these bottles at any cost."

"Are we bidding on them?" Napoleon asked, not sure if 'at any cost' meant just that.

"Yes precisely, but try not to drive up the price Mr. Solo, no need to impress anyone. You will be masquerading as a wealthy American dealer in vintage liquors." Waverly tossed him his identity papers for his cover along with a rather thick envelope. Napoleon's eyes widened when he saw it was cash, hundred dollar bills to be precise.

"And me sir?" Illya asked.

"You Mr. Kuryakin are to remain in the background as Mr. Solo's and chauffeur andbodyguard. If in the event he is able to secure the purchase of the Grand Marnier, I have no doubt someone, namely THRUSH, will try to get their hands on it. And if Mr. Solo is outbid, then your skills as a second story man will be needed instead."

"What's preventing them or us, for that matter, in trying to obtain the bottles before the auction?" Napoleon asked.

"All the inventory is under very heavy security as there are several high profile paintings by Vermeer and Degas being offered from a private collection. That will most likely be the focus for most buyers and not two innocuous bottles of Grand Marnier. The event is to be preceded by a cocktail hour at the Hotel Sacher, after which the auction will take place in the grand ballroom. Your room is booked at the hotel as well, and please Mr. Solo no extravagances with room service?"

Napoleon gave a quick glance to his partner, hiding his smile."I will endeavor to do so, sir."

"Your flight leaves this evening gentlemen. Good luck and please do not disappoint me."

.

The partners left in silence, heading to wardrobe to secure the clothing needed for the assignment.

"Here I go playing your servant again," Illya remarked, dropping the chauffeur's hat atop his blond mop. "I should just keep this and not bother returning it."

"What are you complaining about, you know you just love to sneak around in the shadows, lurking nearby, ready to pounce on people; playing your part lets you do that. Me, I'm out in the open and at risk."

"I do not lurk, I spy." Illya quipped, gathering up his garment bag containing the rest of his chauffeur's uniform and draping it over his arm.

Napoleon picked up a new tux for himself along with a pair of exploding cuff links and a stickpin doubling as listening device, after deciding his own wardrobe would suit his purposes better than what UNCLE had to offer. Though he decided a couple of silk shirts with exploding buttons might be in order.

"You need to stop doing this Napoleon," Arnell, the head of Wardrobe remarked. "One of these days accounting is going to quit reimbursing for your expensive suits, especially when they find out you had the option to use ones from here."

Napoleon flashed a little smile, and leaned over, giving her a quick peck on the cheek. "And you won't be the one to tell of course Arnie my darling, will you?"

"Me," the older woman blushed," I'd never do that to you. Just saying one of these days, things are going to catch up with you, that's all."

He winked his goodbye."Until that happens, I'll take my chances."

The agents arrived early the next morning at Vienna International Airport , in Schwechat, 18 km southeast of central Vienna. Illya stepped from the the Rolls, wearing his charcoal grey uniform, black leather gloves, and hat, and sporting a pair of aviator sunglasses. He retrieved their luggage, while Napoleon, much to his partner's dismay, dove head on into playing his part. Solo stood by looking down his nose while smoking a cigarette in a black cigarette holder, not offering to help.

Illya hefted the suitcases onto a luggage cart, following Napoleon as they headed to a nearby parking area where a Rolls Royce was waiting for them, pre-arranged by headquarters. He loaded the bags, too many by his estimation, into the boot, and looked up at his partner, who was standing there, scowling at him.

"What?"

'You should have opened the door first and let me be seated in the car before you did that."

"Do not start with me Napoleon," Illya groused. He slammed the car door after his snickering partner got in the back seat. The blond agent slipped into the driver's side, removing his hat and started the car, letting the engine purr for a moment before putting it into gear.

They arrived at the Hotel Sacher and a bellhop helped Illya unload the luggage and thankfully took over the task of transporting it to their room.

Waverly spared no expense on this one, with them being given a two bedroom suite. Napoleon getting the master bedroom of course, but Illya was delighted to have a bed to himself for once in the adjoining room.

They ordered brunch from room service and when the food arrived, they discussed the logistics. They munched on Topfenstrudel (a quark cheese-filled strudel) Palatschinken (Viennese crêpes, as well as an assortment of fruits and cheeses, finishing it off with some strong Espresso Romano, with with a small rind of lemon and sugar added to it. It was decided Napoleon would mingle alone among the guests, while Illya would stay off to the side, surveying the room. Solo's stick pin would allow Illya to listen in on the conversations going on around his partner. They'd also be in contact by radio this time, instead of using communicators.

After finishing their meal, Illya changed from his uniform to his usual black suit, white shirt and tie and and as a precaution, he headed down to the grand ball room to get a better look at the layout, and check on the number of exits.

When he entered the room he stopped; admiring the decor. It was very elegant; the white walls gilt with gold showing a strong baroque influence, with large crystal chandeliers dominating the room. At one end of the room were several a long tables covered in a bright red table Soviet in him shook his head a such decadence, though he'd seen enough of that in the historic Winter Palace in Leningrad when he'd visited it once. That made this look drab by comparison.

There were six exit-entrances that he counted...the main door that he'd just walked through, the doorway to the hall that led to the kitchens, and three tall French doors on the far side of the ballroom, leading out to a terraced garden. That many would be a bit problematic to watch, and he walked the room looking for the ideal vantage point.

Once he found a spot that suited him, he left to return to the suite, noting a heavily guarded doorway just off the main lobby.

"Halten Sie diese Schätze jetzt sicher sind wir_keeping those treasures safe now are we?" He smiled to the guards.

"Ja, Sir, so sehr_yes sir, very much so," one of them remarked in return. That gave the Russian the answer he needed. No chance of getting to the bottles of brandy there, as Waverly had said.

He spotted his partner in the hotel bar and joined him. "You recall I am supposed to be your bodyguard," he whispered, stepping up behind Solo.

"At the cocktail party and after the auction when I've acquired the items in question." Napoleon lifted a snifter of brandy, taking a sip from it.

"No, I should be with you at all times," Illya retorted. "You have your role and I have mine as you so pointed out."

"You're going to put a damper on my style tonight, chum. Relax...everything will be fine."

"Napoleon please, this is not the time to be on the prowl. Finish your drink and come upstairs with me so I might discuss a few things with you privately?"

"Party pooper," Solo growled, downing the last of his brandy in one mouthful. He'd been eyeing a pretty blonde fräulein at the end of the bar, who'd been flashing him flirtatious looks. "So much for that," he sighed.

.

The next day the secure room was opened under heavy security for potential bidders to view the items being offered at auction. As Napoleon wandered among them, catalogue in hand with Illya following a few pace behind; he marveled at the collection.

Waverly had been correct, the Vermeer and Degas were garnering most attention, but a number of other fabulous offerings stood out as well. There were a few items of jewelry owned by Wallis Simpson, just trifles from her collection of over 200 pieces.

There were paintings from lesser known artists of the19th century, including some Russian works, this of course drew Kuryakin's momentary attention. Vases and porcelains from China, statuary from Japan, as well as Dresden figurines from the "crinoline groups," showing court life scenes of people dancing and playing instruments. It was quite an eclectic collection.

The agents located the bottles of Grand Marnier located in a section that included some rare bottles of wine. They hadn't garnered a prime location for viewing as had the other pieces, and not surprisingly there were scheduled to be up early in the auction, with the paintings going last.

The cocktail hour arrived and the agents headed down to the ballroom, Napoleon looking dashing in his tux, but eyeing his partner as they rode down together in the elevator.

"You know you really need to get a better tuxedo, that ruffled shirt just doesn't cut it."

"Just because it is not your style, does not make it... why am I bothering? You never approve of the style of clothing I wear. You are being a bit snobbish, I think." Illya never turned once to look Napoleon in the eye, and remained standing with his arms crossed in front of his chest. He adjusted his earpiece, and lifted his wrist to his mouth, speaking into a small microphone attached to the band of his wrist watch.

"Can you hear me now?" He said louder than necessary.

"Ow, very funny," Napoleon cringed at the volume. "Hey, I think you look rather dashing in your chauffeur's uniform."

"Now who is being funny..."

The elevator doors opened to a busy lobby, with a fair sized crowd entering the ballroom.

Napoleon snatched a glass of champagne as a waiter with a tray passed by, and moved quickly into the crowd, eavesdropping on snippets of conversations.

Illya went immediately to his vantage point, conveniently located next to the tables now containing serving stations for hors d'oeuvres. He helped himself to a plateful and assumed his spot, munching away as he surveyed the guests. He had complete view of every door and those entering the gala.

Conversation between the two agents was kept at a minimum. Napoleon had overheard a conversation regarding interest in the bottles of brandy, as well as the Vermeer and Degas. He sighed, thinking it was going to be a long night if this gentleman with a very obvious Texas twang out bid him on the Grand Marnier, as he'd be staying until the bitter end to vie for the two paintings. Napoleon had a suspicion he'd have to go higher than Waverly wanted to beat out this particular fellow.

"Napoleon we have company, it seems your 'dog' is here.." Illya's voice came across in his earpiece. The Russian had spotted a familiar platinum blond accompanied by a ruggedly handsome older man, silver haired and by the fit of his tuxedo, he was in very good shape. "Dog? What are you on about?"

"Dog as in 'La Chien,' and she has a friend with her." The Russian practically hissed; he had no compunction about letting his partner know he despised the woman, much less Solo's periodic liaisons with her.

"Now that wasn't very nice, calling her a dog," Solo whispered into the mic on his wristwatch.

"That depends upon one's point of view. Remember Napoleon, when you lay down with dogs, you rise up with fleas..."

Solo clicked his tongue at his partner's judgemental tone."Where is she?"

"Eleven o'clock and it looks as though she has spotted you and is heading your way, without her companion."

A moment later Solo heard the sultry voice. "Hmm, what a coincidence meeting you here darling." She leaned forward, giving him a little peck on the cheek. She was dressed in a black lace dress, tight fitting in all the right places, and a dark fur stole draped casually over her shoulders.

"Angelique, and what may I ask brings THRUSH here?"

"Oh a few items up for auction that my companion has taken a keen interest in purchasing."

"And what might they be?"

"Just some trinkets, and may I ask the same of you? What brings UNCLE's finest here? And where is that annoying Russian partner of yours?"

"Oh he's here abouts somewhere, keeping a keen eye out for trouble makers." Napoleon grabbed a champagne glass from a waiter's tray, offering it to her.

She took a sip from it, smiling seductively. "Napoleon dear, you're being evasive and not answering my other question...what brings you here?"

"Oh, just interested in, as you say...some trinkets." He smiled at her.

"Hmm, well if we're bidding on the same items then I won't wish you luck, perhaps, 'may the best man...or woman win." She turned away from him, disappearing into the crowd and returning to her companion.

In the meantime, Illya had approached the Englishman, spilling a glass of champagne on him.

"You bloody fool, watch what you are doing!" The man barked at him, with a distinctive British accent.

He quickly brushed off the man's jacket with his handkerchief, apologizing profusely for his clumsiness, but in fact had just pick-pocketed the man's wallet. He pushed his way through the crowd, heading for cover behind a large potted palm, and quickly went through the contents.

Illya recognized the man's name immediately. "Napoleon, the man Angelique is with is Cedric Wilkinson, a member of Central."

Solo's brows arched, as members of THRUSH Central rarely showed themselves in public.

Kuryakin handed the wallet to a waiter, telling him it was found on the floor and thought it belonged to the white-haired man standing with the platinum blonde woman dressed in black.

"Thank you sir, I will return it to the gentleman immediately."

A gong sounded, signalling the end of the cocktail hour and the guests were called to the main lobby while the chairs for the auction were set up. Those participating had previously registered and were given their numbered bidders cards as they re-entered the ballroom.

Illya stood to the side, keeping Angelique and Wilkinson in view as they were seated in the third row, Napoleon was a few seats over in the row behind them.

The auction commenced with a pair of Dresden figurines, a pair of pug dogs.

"Figurines of eighteenth-century ladies and gentlemen, animal groups, extremely popular..." the auctioneer announced. The bidding commenced, and they were on to the next item in no time, a Quing dynasty vase that sold very quickly. Finally the bottles of Grand Marnier appeared on the block.

"Ladies and gentleman these rare bottles of Grand Marnier from the collection of the late Dr. Franz Loewe are being offered here today as an unusual treat. Not the legendary Cognac Napoleon Grande Fine Champagne of 1811, but still they are a fortuitous pair. These remarkable bottles from the 1830 vintage are in superb condition, were given as a gift by King William IV to his personal physician, and were subsequently passed down through generations of his family until they were added to the collection of Dr. Loewe. There are accompanying letters of provençe. Now what am I bid?

The first bid, a substantial one, was made by Wilkinson, followed by the Texan. Napoleon raised his bidding card and upped the ante just a bit. The bidding became fast and furious, with the Texan finally doubling the highest bid made by Solo. That number Napoleon couldn't best, and neither, it seemed, could Wilkinson.

Solo glanced over to his partner and shrugged as the Russian was still keeping a sharp eye on the room.

"Looks like I will need to change my clothing again,"Illya's voice whispered softly into Solo's earpiece.

"You'll have a bit of a wait as I overheard the Texan saying he was planning to bid on the paintings, and they're last to come up on the block.

The end of the evening arrived with the American outbidding his rivals for the Degas and Vermeer. Napoleon watched as Angelique and Wilkinson sauntered out of the ballroom, looking all too smug. No doubt they were up to someting.

"Tovarisch, you go change and do your thing, I'll keep an eye out on our little birdies."

Illya left the ballroom taking his time as he knew the items bought by the American would take a bit of time to be delivered to his hotel suite. He changed into a black turtleneck, a pair of dark sneakers, a woolen cap for his head, and smeared black grease paint on his face. He gathered up his tools, a rope with a grappling hook and a glass cutter. The Texan's suite was conveniently located below theirs, and when the time was right, Illya lowered himself to the balcony below, and using the glass cutter, he sliced an opening for him to reach his hand through and turn the handle on the French door.

No one was in the suite at the moment, though he presumed there was a guard outside the door. The two bottles were nestled on a table in the sitting room, and he carefully picked them up and placed them each in their velvet pouches, and inturn into a bag slung over his shoulder.

He exited to the balcony, shimmying back up the rope and climbing over the railing to his and Napoleon's suite, but he froze at the sound of a pistol being cocked.

"Why thank you Mr. Kuryakin, "Wilkinson said, "you saved me quite a bit of trouble in obtaining those bottles. Now inside," he gestured with the gun after he removed the Russian's Special from his shoulder holster.

An unhappy Napoleon was seated in a chair with Angelique standing beside him, holding a gun on the American.

"Ah there you are, you insipid little Russian," she droned.

Illya ignored her. "Napoleon are you all right?"

"Fine for the moment, as only my pride has been hurt."

"Hand over the bottles Mr. Kuryakin and do be gentle please? We wouldn't want any breakage as I'd have to have Miss La Chien do some damage to your partner." Wilkinson said.

Illya lifted the shoulder strap, removing the bag and placing it on a nearby table. He took the bottles from their velvet coverings, standing them side by side.

"Excellent!" Wilkinson chortled. "Now fetch two glasses from the bar if you would be so kind?"

Illya did as he was told, placing the glasses next to the bottles and taking a step back.

Wilkinson picked up one of the bottles of cognac, examining it with relish before opening it and pouring two small libations, one for himself and one for Angelique.

"Come my dear, let's toast to eternal youth. You do want to stay beautiful forever don't you?"

"That's every woman's dream I suppose," she crooned, accepting the glass from her Superior.

Wilkinson downed the cognac in one swallow, not sipping it as he was anxious for Dr. Loewe's formula to give him back the gift of his lost youth.

The man grabbed his throat, a look of pain and fear in his eyes. Napoleon reached out, knocking the glass from Angeliques hand as she was about to take a sip.

She, Solo and Kuraykin watched in horror as Wilkinson's face paled, and began to shrivel, as the man rapidly aged right before their eyes.

Cedric Wilkinson's body collapsed to the floor, now looking as though he was a hundred years old.

Napoleon knelt beside the man, checking his pulse, but found none.

"Looks like Professor Loewe's formula was not what he intended it to be," Illya remarked.

"Napoleon darling," Angelique said,"thank you for saving my life. You do know that if Wilkinson had ordered me to hurt you, I wouldn't have liked doing it in the least?" She smiled at him nervously.

"Thank goodness for small favors," he reached out, taking her pistol from her without any resistance at all. "I think it's time you leave. We'll take care of this mess here."

"And the Grand Marnier?" Her eyes sparkled at the American.

"Not a chance my dear..." Napoleon saw her to the door."Tell your buddies at Central the bottles were poisoned and the contents killed Cedric Wilkinson."

The agents picked up the body and unceremoniously tossed it off the balcony, down on the one below. That along with the missing cognac would add to the confusion.

Napoleon and Illya left the hotel, this time Solo riding up front with his partner as he drove to the airport. The Grand Marnier had been tucked into their carry on luggage and no one was the wiser as they boarded the jet plane bound for New York.

Upon arrival, they returned to headquarters with the cognac and the disappointing news that Loewe's formula was a failure.

"Sir what exactly was UNCLE's interest in this fountain of youth formula?" Napoleon asked.

"It was proposed it just might help those suffering from debilitating diseases such as multiple sclerosis and such disease..." Waverly shook his head.

They sat together at the conference table looking rather somber, and out of the blue Alexander Waverly rose, going to his liquor cabinet and offered each of them a glass of his treasured Aquitaine, pouring libations for the three of them.

"To your health gentlemen," Waverly raised his glass in toast.

"Cheers," Solo and Kuryakin offered in return, but both hesitated to drink, as the image of the dying Wilkinson was still fresh in their minds.

"Well, what are you waiting for gentlemen? It's not like it's poisoned..." Waverly cocked his bushy eyebrows.

.


End file.
